


Project: Anastasis

by aimless38



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 11:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimless38/pseuds/aimless38
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can Clint and Phil's relationship handle the truth of Phil's resurrection?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Project: Anastasis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicari_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicari_chan/gifts), [Kika988](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kika988/gifts).



> This is my take on the events post episode 11. It differs from canon in that I changed some of the details to fit this universe.
> 
> Anastasis = Resurrection

Project: Anastasis

 

 

 

 

“Giant radioactive plants? I did not sign on for this.” Clint looked down at himself in disgust. His uniform was liberally splattered with the remains of the local flora that had tried their best to eat him.

 

Natasha glanced at her partner unsympathetically from the copilot’s seat of the quinjet. She appeared completely unscathed from the mission. Bruce huddled in his seat, wrapped in a blanket. Unfortunately, the plant guts he was liberally coated in didn’t magically disappear when he transformed back into his human self. The doctor looked as miserable as Clint felt.

 

Steve rubbed futilely at his hair with a scrap of towel. It seemed that he got the short straw and had to fight the sticky one. Clint only hoped that eventually they’d be able to scrub off all the goop. And now that it was starting to dry, it itched.

 

To their relief, SHIELD botanists assured them that there was no residual contamination from the accident that created the frisky plant life. Plus, the group they had in custody hastily promised to turn over all their research.

 

“Meet you back at the tower kids," Tony’s voice announced over the com. "Ugh…I’ve got several inches of goo to scrub off my suit. It’s messing with my propulsion system.”

 

It was with a huge sigh of relief when they landed on Stark Tower's helipad. Clint was the last one off, after securing the jet. He couldn’t wait to strip and wallow in the huge shower in his apartment.

 

Once on his floor of Stark Tower, Clint headed right for the bathroom. He peeled his uniform off with a sickly, squelching sound. His vest hit the floor with a splat. After he was down to bare skin, Clint scooped up the uniform and dropped it into a containment bag and then into a slot on the wall. The oddly-placed laundry shoot was not too bizarre really, considering how many foreign and alien substances he and the Avengers team were regularly paired against.

 

Clint literally moaned when he stepped under the steaming multi-jet spray. He could feel the tension from the fight spiral down the drain along with the plant residue, which was easier to wash off than expected. But that might be due in part to the industrial-strength soap Bruce had cooked up in his lab from the last sticky mess they'd faced. It even smelled nice. So if he spent way too long in said shower, who could blame him.

 

Then, after that, Clint saved the best part of this post-mission luxury for last.

 

It was his nightly call to Phil. Even if neither of them could be reached for one reason or another, they’d always leave voice messages. Sometimes, they were disgustingly sweet, others were of an adult rating.

 

So finally, after deciding his skin was pruney enough, and any trace of the battle long gone, Clint shut off the water and grabbed a towel. It was still warm from the heated rack. He really didn’t mind Stark’s excess, in this case.

 

He dried off and hung the towel back up. Yes, Phil had taught him a few neater habits. Then he strolled nude into the bedroom. He grabbed his phone off the bedside table and checked for messages. Clint stared at the screen for a few seconds.

 

Messages - 0

 

Missed calls - 0

 

The archer took a deep breath and tried not to think the worst. After all, they’d been out of contact before, many times. But there had always been a message, always. Clint dialed Phil’s number. When it went straight to voicemail, he tried again but the same results.

 

So Clint did what he always did when Phil was out of contact. He called Sitwell. He was one of Phil’s oldest friends and usually knew what was going on with Coulson. The agent’s phone went right to voicemail too.

 

Okay, now Clint was really starting to worry.

 

Not one to abuse his level seven clearance, well unless it was absolutely necessary, Clint logged onto the SHIELD mainframe and inquired as to the status of Agent Phil Coulson.

When Clint saw the reply, he felt his stomach plummet.

 

_‘Agent Phillip J Coulson: Status Classified.’_

 

Clint called Sitwell again and this time left a message. “If you’re not picking up because you are hiding something from me, Jasper, I will find out and kick your ass. I’m coming downtown to ask again in person: Where the hell is Phil? HQ is your sanctuary, especially if an op has gone tits up, so I'll be there in fifteen.”

 

Barton threw some clothes on and slid his feet into his boots, not bothering about the laces. He raced out the door on his way to the parking garage, nearly mowing down Steve in the process.

 

The soldier stood there a bit perplexed when Clint didn’t even try for an apology of any sort. He hoped nothing was wrong, but that was in vain, if the expression on the archer’s face was any indication.

 

Clint ran to his motorcycle and straddled the machine, starting it up with a roar. It was a far cry from his old Yamaha he had right after his circus days. This one was a beauty. He put on his helmet and roared out of the garage on the way to SHIELD's Manhattan HQ.

 

He parked in Director Fury’s personal spot and keyed his access code into the parking lot entrance door.

 

Sitwell met him right inside the door. Definitely not a good sign. The archer wasted no time backing the smaller man against the wall to get straight to the point.

 

“What the hell is going on? Phil… is he?” He could not even bring himself to finish that sentence.

 

“Coulson’s okay." Jasper laid his hand on Clint’s tense arm. "I want you to know that right away.”

 

Oh fuck. This was so very far from being alright, if Sitwell was trying to comfort him already.

 

“Screw security clearances and just tell me. Why isn’t Phil answering his phone? Is he not able to?”

 

“Do you know about Centipede and their pet soldiers?” Sitwell asked.

 

“We’ve crossed paths a few times. No match for Rogers though.”

 

“All I can tell you is that Coulson was taken during a hostage exchange. Phil’s team got him back. He was a little banged up but relatively unscathed. They also brought in a major player in Centipede’s organization. The prisoner is set for interrogation in the morning. The Bus has been grounded, pending an evaluation of Coulson’s stability after the crisis, as per SHIELD regs. But of course, he is refusing." Sitwell looked concerned at the worry evident on Barton’s face. "That’s all I can say.”

 

“Where’s the Bus parked?” That was all Clint needed to know.

 

Jasper knew the assassin would not give up until he was given that information. Plus, he knew Phil’s penchant to withdraw when he was hurt. It was a tactic that he didn’t think the agent would use with his lover, but Sitwell had to wonder just what the hell was going on. The rumors and whispering since Phil’s evident death and miraculous recovery were worrisome. It had weighed heavily on Coulson’s mind. Even to the point where he asked Jasper if he had any information. It didn’t take a genius to know there was a huge cover-up of Fury’s security clearance caliber. Maybe it was time some light was shed on the whole mess.

 

Jasper finally divulged the airfield that housed the Bus inside one of its oversized hangars. "Good luck, Clint. Coulson didn’t sound too good when I talked to him.”

 

Sitwell sighed and shook his head as the archer simply nodded and left. Maybe he would have better luck getting through to Phil and finding out what the hell was going on. Coulson had sounded so odd and numb when he spoke to him briefly on the phone earlier.

 

Clint’s mind wandered into dangerous and unwelcome territory as he drove. He had time to come up with one horrible scenario after another. The archer had seen his handler come out unscathed through more harrowing situations that he could count. What was so different about this one? And the fact that Clint had not been there to back him up left a burning ache in his guts.

 

He was stopped at the security gate by a newbie agent. God, the kid looked like he was twelve. He asked for I.D. but Clint took off his helmet and shook his head. “Really? You're seriously going to ask me for identification?”

 

At the kid’s totally impassive and somewhat bored-looking face, Clint rattled off his name and identification number. He even added the title of ‘Avenger’ for emphasis. The kid even made him wait while the information was verified. Clint half expected to be denied entrance, but finally he was waived on ahead.

 

This particular landing strip and facility was not a main branch, so it was not too difficult to find the hangar in question. The large doors were wide open and the dark shape of the modified Globemaster took up almost all the available space.

 

Clint parked his bike and walked to the access door near the hull of the cargo door. He banged on the metal with his helmet.

 

“Come on. Open up. You know I’m out here.” Clint was starting to get frustrated when he was met with nothing but silence. Why the hell wouldn’t they let him in?

 

“Agent Coulson left word that he didn’t want to see anyone,” Ward said as he stepped out of the shadows.

 

“I’m not just anyone." Fuck this, Clint thought. No wet behind the ears agent was going to keep him out. "Now let me board.”

 

“It was difficult for all of us, Agent Coulson especially. Not that he wanted us to know that. But he needs time to process what happened,” Ward explained.

 

“What’s difficult and potentially damaging to your person is the fact that you are denying me entrance on the fucking plane,” Clint growled. He’d go through Ward if he had to. This was just wrong.

 

“Barton, stand down.” Melinda May’s calm voice echoed in the hanger. She moved to flank Agent Ward.

 

“What the hell, May? What’s going on?" Clint hated the pleading note his voice took on. He really didn’t want to have to go through her too. There was a possibility May might actually kick his ass. "Why can’t I see him?”

 

“He’s damaged, Barton. He needs time to sort out what happened,” May reluctantly admitted.

 

“What _did_ happen? Damn it! I need to see Coulson to make sure he’s alright," Clint yelled. He knew his lover could hear him. "Phil, open the fucking door now!”

 

There was an audible sigh, made a bit tinny by the loud speaker. “Let him aboard before he wakes the neighbors.”

 

Now that he had access, the archer suddenly found that didn’t want to board. Clint hesitated until he could see Phil standing at the edge of the cargo ramp as it descended. Their eyes met briefly, then without waiting for Barton to follow, Coulson turned around and walked back inside.

 

It was all too fucking odd. Clint could not help but trail Phil’s progress through the plane then up the small staircase into his handler's office.

 

Once the door was shut, Phil finally turned around. Clint got a good look at his face. It was battered and bruised. But worse than that was the haunted look in his lover’s eyes. Clint reached out to touch a black and blue mottled cheek. He frowned when Phil took a step back.

 

“Don’t,” Phil warned him away.

 

Shocked, Clint froze his hand still outstretched. Then he clenched his fingers into a fist.

 

“Why?” The need to touch Phil was overwhelming, to comfort the anguish Clint could see on his face. It looked too much like his own expression after Loki fucked with his mind.

 

Just what did those Centipede bastards do to him? SHIELD agents were trained to withstand torture, but this was something different. Something worse.

 

“What did they do to you?” Clint couldn’t take the silence. He crowded close again until Phil was practically sitting on his desk and Clint standing between his knees.

 

“I can’t." Phil stated in a flat tone of voice. "I need time to think about things, to decide what to do.”

 

“About what happened, about SHEILD, or about us?” Clint asked.

 

When Coulson looked away, uncertain, Clint’s heart sank.

 

“I just need some space, Clint, from everything. I feel like a part of me is missing. One that I might never get back. I was never supposed to come back. What they did…”

 

Despite trying to sound as unemotional as possible, Clint could hear Phil’s voice hitch.

 

“Just tell me, Phil. You were there for me after Loki, then after I thought you died. Despite going through all that, you still helped me cope. You were there to listen and keep me sane. Let me do the same for you. Please.” Clint placed his hand on Phil’s face, mindful of his bruises. He turned his head so Clint could look him in the eyes.

 

“What I went through?" Phil started, "You have no idea. No, Clint you need to leave. I can’t do this right now."

 

Phil managed to slide out from in front of Clint and walk to the other side of his office. "I… I’ll call you.”

 

“Will you?” Clint managed to ask despite feeling like he might throw up.

 

“I don’t know.” Coulson stiffly replied.

 

“So this is it then? You have your own team now, and _they_ rescued you when I wasn’t able. So I guess you don’t need me anymore, is that what you’re trying to say? Well fuck you, Phil. Stay here in your cocoon and pretend nothing happened.” Clint turned and walked to the doorway.

 

“No, that's not it, Clint. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t be with anyone right now. What I said was that I need to figure some things out, and I can’t afford any distractions.” Phil winced when he realized how he sounded and how it could easily be interpreted as rejection rather than a need for time and space to process what had happened.

 

“So I’m an unwelcome distraction? Fine. Well, see you around, Agent Coulson. When you decide you want _distraction_ again, why don’t you call your cellist in Portland. I’m sure she’ll take you back.” Clint sneered and then was gone.

 

Phil sat heavily onto his sofa and dropped his head into his hands. He felt hollow and empty, as if someone had scooped out all that made him Phil Coulson and left an empty automaton behind.

 

He’d compromised himself, let soft words and a sympathetic voice sway his loyalty to SHIELD.

 

Clint didn’t deserve someone like that, someone who was barely holding it together. Phil was sure the emptiness would soon be replaced by rage, rage for what had been done to him without his consent and for the weeks of agonizing torture and degrading begging.

 

But now, for the sake of his sanity, he had to focus on getting the whole story, no matter what the cost.

~*~

 

_What the fuck just happened?_ was the question running through Clint's mind in an endless loop.

 

In less than an hour, he'd lost the most important thing in his life. Clint let his temper get the best of him instead of staying calm and trying to talk. But he'd been terrified when Phil admitted he needed some space. So he'd lashed out and tried to hurt Phil back. This was why he sucked at relationships. Clint should have given Phil the time he needed, waited until his lover was ready to talk. But instead, he’d pushed and ended up backing Phil into a corner.

 

His motorcycle roared as Clint accelerated, speeding away to try to outrun the turmoil in his heart. He took a curve on the highway too fast and almost wiped out. With a curse, he skidded to a halt, got off the bike, and removed his helmet. In a fit of anger, he pitched it as hard as he could. He ran his hands through his sweat damp hair and paced angrily along the side of the road.

 

Clint couldn’t do this without Phil. He didn’t know how to cope without the calm reassuring voice of his lover. Losing the man once almost killed Clint. There was no way he’d survive it a second time. With a huge effort, Clint pushed through the imminent panic attack and tried to think of how to fix this.

 

He didn't know what to do. Despite Clint's visit to the Bus, he wasn’t any closer to finding out what the hell happened when Phil was held hostage. There was no way Coulson would tell him what happened either. Not now.

 

Clint knew it was wrong to go digging, but he had to know. He had to figure out what he was up against. The archer’s security clearance wasn’t high enough to even begin to get near the information he needed.

 

Clint could not access it, but he knew someone else who could.

 

Barton now had a mission. His objective was to reacquire one Agent Phil Coulson, and he would not be denied again. Breaking off their relationship was simply not an option. They’d been through too much together and Clint was not going to give up without a fight.

 

With a new found resolve, Clint retrieved his helmet from the field next to the road and got back on his bike. The engine started smoothly and he headed back to Stark Tower.

 

He got back to the property in one piece and parked his bike. He went straight to his apartment and began to pace. Now that he was home, the archer was having second thoughts about prying into Phil’s private life.

 

Plus, he’d have to go to Stark for the help he needed to get into SHIELD'S records. That was something Clint knew Tony was capable of and had done before, but he was treading on thin ice as far as breach of relationship was concerned.

 

Clint had witnessed too many nightmares, when Phil dozed uneasily beside him. Clint never mentioned the begging and pained whimpers that plagued the quiet hours on the rare occasions they actually slept together. Nor did he mention the agonizing screams that pulled Phil from his dreams and left him shaken and uncommunicative for hours afterward, never able to quite remember just what haunted his slumber.

 

It seems that Coulson finally discovered the skeletons on the closet and was not ready to share, even though the knowledge was eating away at him, closing him off from Clint and making him want to pull away.

 

Clint snarled in frustration and stalked out of the apartment. “Jarvis, where is Stark?”

 

“Sir is currently in his workshop. Do you wish to speak to him?”

 

“Yeah, but I’ll go to him," Clint added, heading for the elevator.

 

“I shall inform sir you are on your way.”

 

Clint paused outside of the glass door to Stark’s domain. He had to wait for Tony to let him in, which might take a while if the genius was engrossed in a project. Finally, he was noticed, and the door opened with a slight hiss.

 

Stark was at one of his work tables with a pair of welding goggles pushed up on his forehead, making his hair stick up in all directions. Pieces of the iron man suit were spread out in a confusing array while holographic computer images hung in the air around their creator.

 

It was all too reminiscent of a mad scientist in his lair.

 

Clint walked in and had no idea how to ask Stark for this favor. He really didn’t want to involve anyone else but he could not go to anyone in SHIELD.

 

Tony turned to Clint and leaned one hip against the workbench. “So Barton, what can I do you for, or are you just here to witness my dazzling brilliance?”

 

The archer took a deep breath. “I need a favor.”

 

“Really, how extraordinary. You’ve finally recognized my superiority in all things and have come to reap the benefits. Now what to demand in return.” Tony was going to bask in the moment. He was mostly kidding but wanted to make Barton squirm a little.

 

Clint ran his hand through his closely cropped hair and tried to count to ten. He didn’t have any patience for this bullshit, not when his life was crumbling around him. He ripped his wallet out of his pocket and threw it on the table.

 

“I don’t fucking care, take it all. Take everything," Clint replied, wanting to scream. "I can’t deal deal with bullshit right now. So are you going to help me or not?”

 

Tony’s eyes widened in surprise. He didn’t think he’d seen Clint this upset since they thought Coulson was dead. He held his hands up. “Whoa, whoa, hold on. Clearly something it wrong. It’s not Agent is it? Your booty call not go well or something?”

 

“Stark, shut it now, before I do something I’ll regret. If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone else who will.” Clint turned towards the door. Maybe Natasha knew someone.

 

“Wait, damn it. I was only kidding." Tony laid his hand on Clint’s shoulder and could feel how tense it was. "Seriously, what’s up?”

 

Clint risked a look at the billionaire’s face. All he could see there was kind concern. This was the person that gave the archer a place to call home after the invasion, somewhere he could feel safe. He should be able to trust him.

 

“Coulson was taken hostage on an botched mission. Something happened to him there. He’s been through some horrible ordeals while involved in SHIELD, we all have, but he’s never come back like this before." Clint looked at the floor as he tried to get himself under control.

"It might have something to do with Phil’s miraculous recovery after Loki stabbed him with the scepter. I think its all connected, and I need you to find out. I don’t care how.”

 

“Why not just ask Coulson?” Tony wanted to know.

 

“He threw me out. Said he couldn’t deal with me right now. Not on top of everything else. I might have gotten angry and said a few things. We kinda broke up, I guess." Clint could not keep the desperation out of his voice. So much for his badass agent persona. "Shit, I have no clue what we mean to each other anymore, but I’m not going to let Phil deal with this alone. He was there for me after Loki fucked up my head. I have to be there for him now, but I need to know what I’m dealing with. I couldn’t think of anyone else to ask that wasn’t directly connected to SHIELD to ask for help.”

 

Tony raised his eyebrows. “So what you’re saying is that you want me to hack into SHIELD’s databases, blow through any security I encounter, and ferret out anything I can on Coulson’s recovery after the Battle of New York as well as his recent kidnapping and torture at the hands of some nasty enemies. Wow, you hesitate in asking for small favors but the big ones, you just come right out and go for it, don't ya?"

 

“Basically, yeah,” Clint confirmed with a heavy sigh.

 

“What if you don’t like what I find?" Tony wondered. "What then?”

 

“I deal with it.” Clint would… somehow. He was terrified to find out just what the hell actually happened ‘Tahiti’ and what it was all about.

 

“You need to look specifically for any mentions of Tahiti. I’m sure its code for something. Phil’s mentioned it before in regards to his recovery. It's almost like a preconditioned response: "Tahiti is a magical place." Frankly, it creeps the hell out of me, his robotic response and the blank look he gets when he says it. It almost reminds me of how I sounded under Loki’s control.”

 

Clint shuddered now that he’d made that connection.

 

“Alright. I’ll see what I can do. I promise you can trust me with this.” Tony owed Phil. He just hoped his meddling didn’t jeopardize their tenuous friendship. But maybe it was time for the truth to come out about what happened. It was painfully obvious that Barton and Coulson needed each other, and this was obviously coming between them.

 

“Thanks, I don’t know what else I would have done if you'd refused,” Clint admitted.

 

“Get some rest, Barton. You look like hell. I’ll have Jarvis alert you when I’ve found something.” Tony was already moving towards his computer array to begin fishing.

 

Clint thought for a moment about waiting there until Stark found something, but he was already a non-entity in the room once Tony dove in. He couldnt' decipher half of what he saw on the holographic screens anyway.  It'd be best to let Stark do his thing.

 

Although Clint doubted he’d get any rest back in his apartment, the bottle of vodka in his suite was extremely tempting. So the archer left Tony’s lab, leaving the genius to talk to his A.I. and commit his cyber crimes alone.

 

“Wakey, wakey, Jarvis. Daddy’s got some clandestine hacking of an illegal nature to accomplish. Dummy, coffee, and keep it coming. Hey J, is that worm I planted in Fury’s system still dormant? Well then, activate it and tag anything with these parameters,” Tony gleefully called out as he typed furiously.

 

Clint went to the elevator shaking his head. Stark was seriously mental, and he was glad Tony was on their side. He honestly had no idea what to do now.

 

As a sniper, he could empty his mind with nothing in his sights but the target. Hawkeye could stay motionless for hours in practically any kind of weather. Or he could spring into action at a moments notice to get the job done by any means possible. But this kind of waiting was different. Clint needed something to occupy his mind and drinking was a last resort. Besides, Natasha knew his family history and told Clint that if she caught him drinking alone, she’d personally kick his ass.

 

So the archer headed down to the archery range. The compound was something that finally tipped the scales in favor of him moving to the Tower in the first place.

 

Clint walked to a storage alcove, put on his arm guard and glove then pulled down a prototype bow. It was one they had not _quite_ worked the kinks out of yet but he was eager to continue to work on it.

 

He sighted the holographic target at the extreme far end of the range. The archer lost himself in the repetitive motion of draw and release. Clint’s movements were fluid and graceful. In this type of weaponry, he had no peer.

 

Time became irrelevant. Clint welcomed the burn in the muscles of his shoulders and the slight trembling of his hands as he continued. Still, he didn’t stop, not until his latest arrow veered off course to hit the wall next to the target. Finally, Clint laid his bow aside and sank down to the mat, wincing as his upper back cramped painfully. He idly picked at the new blister on his finger until it bled.

 

“Are you finished punishing yourself yet?”

 

Startled, Clint looked towards the doorway. Leaning there, in sweatpants and a tank top, was his partner.

 

“I’m not punishing myself,” Clint protested.

 

Natasha gave him a disbelieving look. “Oh really? Four hours down here without a break post mission? I beg to differ.  What happened, Clint? Is Coulson alright?”

 

“I don’t know,” Clint admitted, hunching his shoulders.

 

Natasha walked into the room and knelt behind her partner. She placed her hands on his tense back and began to seek out each knot with ruthless determination. She didn’t speak until she felt Clint start to relax.

 

“Tell me.”

 

The archer had never been able to hold anything back from his partner. They were each other’s confidants, a shelter to seek when things spiraled out of control, even a shoulder to cry on. So Clint did as she asked. He told her everything.

 

When he was finished, Clint was breathing heavily, his eyes felt prickly and his chest tight. This was the one person, besides Phil, that he could fall apart in front of with no fear of mockery or recriminations.

 

“Come on. Let’s go back to my rooms until Stark finds out something. I’m not leaving you alone right now. You’re an idiot though. You should have come to me first. No need to beat yourself up when I’m here. If you felt the burning need to be punished, we could have gone a few rounds in the gym.” Natasha held out her hand and pulled Clint to his feet. She wrapped her arm around his waist and led him up to her suite.

 

“Thanks, Nat. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Clint walked into Nat’s living room and dropped heavily onto her large sectional sofa. Soft and overstuffed, it would not be the first time he’d spent a significant amount of time there.

 

Natasha came back into the room holding a bottle and two glasses. She set them on the coffee table and joined Barton on the couch. The assassin poured two large shots of vodka and handed one to Clint. He took the glass and downed the contents in a few gulps, coughing a little at the fierce burn.

 

“Jesus Christ, Nat. Why can’t you buy the good stuff? I think this just burned a hole in my gut,” Clint sputtered.

 

“You don’t need the expensive stuff. This will get you numb faster. I’ll be here to watch out for you. Maybe you should get some rest.” Natasha slung her arm around her partner’s shoulders.

 

Clint leaned against her, enjoying the warmth of her closeness. She poured him another tall glass, and this time, he sipped it slowly.

 

“I can’t lose him, Nat. Not like this. I was an idiot and got angry. I said some things, things I can’t take back. Am I doing the right thing, prying into Phil’s private life?”

 

“I have no idea. But we don’t know what we’re dealing with. I couldn’t find out anything at all about Coulson’s rehab. We don’t have a facility in Tahiti, I checked through my sources. That much I’m sure of. He was lied to about his recovery and that bothers me. Why would they lie?” Natasha drained her own glass and picked up the remote off the table. She turned on the stereo and soft jazz filled the apartment.

 

“Phil wasn’t quite the same, Nat. Something was off along with his reflexes and gaps in his memory. I know they said there might be some neurological issues from lack of oxygen to his brain after… after what Loki did, but it bothered him. Not that Phil ever said anything, but the dreams he was having, you weren't there, you didn’t hear the screams. Phil would just shrug them off and say he didn’t remember. Then he’d be distant and cold, as if he was not all there. I need to know what happened.”

 

Clint slouched enough to lay his head on Nat’s shoulder and yawned widely.

 

“Sleep now, Clint. I’ll wake you if I hear anything.” Natasha stroked her partner’s hair lightly as his eyes slowly closed. The vodka, rot gut that it was, worked quickly.

 

Natasha sighed. She only hoped Clint could handle the truth when he found out. She’d heard rumors but didn’t want to ever say anything until it was confirmed. Everyone knew about the lower research levels of SHIELD and the dubious practices that were the norm there, about the potential supers that were contained and studied. It took a higher clearance level than theirs to access any more information about that part of their organization. She wasn't sure she _ever_ wanted to know.

 

~*~

 

Several more hours passed and Natasha looked at her partner. Clint was sprawled out on the sofa with his head pillowed in her lap. A fond smile lit her face as she continued to run her fingers across his scalp. A book, the latest best selling spy thriller, lay open beside her. The bottle of vodka was three-fourths empty and she was barely feeling it.

 

“Agent Romanoff, I’ve been instructed to inform Agent Barton that sir has the information requested," Jarvis explained. "Shall I have him bring it to your suite? My surveillance indicates that Agent Barton has not left your residence since entering a little over four hours ago.”

 

“Yes please. We’ll be waiting.” Natasha replied. She was glad that Stark’s A.I. had not invaded her privacy more than the hallway cameras. It was one thing she’d been adamant about before moving into the tower.

 

Natasha slid her hand down to her partner's cheek. “Clint? Wake up. Tony is on his way down with the info you wanted.”

 

It was wise of the assassin not to startle the archer out of a deep sleep. Familiarity and a long partnership taught them both how to react to each other. Despite that, Clint flinched and bolted upright. Only Natasha’s quick reflexes saved her from a painful headbutt.

 

“Shit. Nat, I’m sorry." Clint rubbed his eyes, his voice scratchy and rough. "You said Stark has the information I wanted? That was fast. How long was I asleep?”

 

“About four hours. You needed the rest.” Natasha stood and stretched then walked into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. She had a feeling they’d need it.

 

“Sir is outside the door," Jarvis stated. "Shall I let him in?”

 

“Yeah sure, open the door.” Clint got up too and walked towards the door.

 

Tony entered the suite and stopped in front of the archer. He looked pale and more than a little freaked out. “Alright. I found what you wanted and watched some of it. I’ve got medical files labeled "Tahiti" and some footage from the surveillance cameras at the place where Centipede was holding Coulson." He paused, eyed the archer carefully. "Are you sure you want to see this, Clint? I can just delete it all and walk away. Might be best.”

 

“Is it that bad?” Clint tried to keep the tremor out of his voice.

 

“It’s bad.” He simply said. The genius took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm sorry."

 

“Give it here.” Clint held out his hand for the thumb drive Tony clutched tightly.

 

“Natasha, watch over him okay? After seeing that, I need a stiff drink… or six.” Tony handed over the information and left the apartment to try and forget the last few hours ever happened. What he’d seen made the billionaire seriously doubt SHIELD'S integrity, not to mention Fury’s sanity.

 

Clint just stood there looking at the small innocuous device in his hand. What ever was on it rattled Stark badly. He couldn’t make his feet move towards the large entertainment center.

 

“Clint, open your hand.” Natasha quietly asked. When the archer didn’t move, she gently pried his fingers open and took the drive. The assassin went to her large TV and plugged in the memory stick. A menu filled the screen containing two folders. One was labeled "Project Anastasis" and the other simply "Coulson".

 

The archer sat stiffly on the sofa with his fists clenched tightly in his lap. “Play it. Coulson first.”

 

“Jarvis, if you would.” Natasha joined her partner and covered his hands with her own.

 

“Of course, Agent Romanoff.”

 

It appeared to be footage from Coulson’s interrogation at the hands of Centipede.

 

Clint watched silently while a couple of thugs roughed Coulson up. The senior agent took it stoically, even grinning as one of the hits bloodied his nose. It was something both of them had been through before. Clint knew it would take more than that to break his lover. Much more.

 

Coulson exclaimed that they could do whatever they wanted but he would not give them any information about SHIELD. Then a suit-wearing ringleader told Phil that they don’t want information about his organization but about his miraculous recovery. The man made Clint’s hands itch for his bow.

 

Coulson was strapped to a table with what looked like a medical scanner attached to it. The device was turned on and Phil struggled against the restraints. He was asked over and over what happened after Loki attacked him. The agent made one glib remark after another until he finally passed out.

 

"What the hell? It's like that machine was messing with Phil’s head, trying to make him remember," Clint said, going cold at that realization. Natasha squeezed his hand tightly, though he barely registered the contact.

 

When Phil regained consciousness again, the questions began gain. It seemed like this suit-wearing thug had way too much information on Coulson's personal life and about his injury on the helicarrier. So much so that Clint wondered if they had a mole at SHIELD.

 

Then the interrogator reminded Phil that he did die that day, that he went cold and his heart was torn to shreds. Apparently, some fucker nicknamed "the Clairvoyant" was jonesing for that information on how Phil was brought back from the dead.

 

"I guess this supposed seer can't see that part in his mystical tea leaves or whatever the fuck makes him clairvoyant."

 

Natasha watched Clint's face as he commented on what he was seeing. Then she saw him pale.

 

Clint forgot to breathe when the interrogators retold the story again about Phil going cold and the horrific extent of his injuries. He knew it was bad, but the official report said that Loki’s staff missed his heart. Either the Centipede asshole or SHIELD was lying about the entire ordeal.

 

The captors brought in cattle prods to use on Coulson, and Clint wanted to tag and kill everyone in that room. Phil’s body arched with every jolt and he bit through his lip to keep from crying out. The feed finally cut off when Coulson fell unconscious again.

 

“Clint, let me turn it off for a bit,” Natasha started to say.

 

“No. Play it all,” Clint demanded.

 

Natasha let the video continue.

 

Phil was on the table again and the bastards shocked him one more time before a woman entered wearing a flowered dress. She seemed totally out of place there, in this torture room, but Clint recognized her immediately as the prisoner SHIELD now had in custody. Raina, he recalled.

 

The feed didn’t pick up the conversation between her and the guy in the suit, but Clint figured something must have gone wrong when the goon dropped dead.

 

Then Raina approached Phil. She took the comforting approach, and even had one of the goons release Phil’s bonds to allow him to sit up. Raina handed Coulson a glass of water and some tissues to staunch the blood from his nose.

 

Clint knew this was one of the oldest interrogation tactics in the book, to bring in the sympathetic one, the one who promises many things if Phil would just give them what they want. Her voice was soft and soothing. Clint knew his lover would not waiver.

 

Clint knew Phil would try and turn the tables, pumping his interrogator for as much information as he could. Raina seemed willing enough to give it up, which did not bode well for her captive. She talked about the Clairvoyant, about Centipede and their version of super soldiers. Then she got to the crux of the matter: They thought Phil’s memories could be the key to giving their pet soldiers the ability to come back from death.

 

She tried to manipulate Phil with the fact that SHIELD was keeping the truth from him. She asserted _their_ machine was the only way to get his lost memories back, something Coulson so desperately wanted.

 

Clint could see Phil wavering. He looked so lost, but Coulson maintained that his team would get him out.

 

Crushing guilt nearly overwhelmed Clint, hearing Phil's conviction. Once it would have been team Delta that had his back. The archer would have done anything to have been there.

 

Phil was hurting and Clint hurt right along with him. The bitch kept reminding Phil that he was alone, there was no family to miss him. His father was the first parent to die when Phil was just a boy, more recently, his mother passed away. Clint remembered that with distinct clarity. He hadn’t even been able to attend Abigail Coulson’s funeral. He’d been halfway around the world on another mission.

 

Then, Raina attacked their relationship, told Phil that Clint would leave him, that Hawkeye had a new team now, and suggested that Clint had no use for a damaged senior agent past his prime. Barton would find someone else, just like his cellist did in Portland. Theirs was a relationship doomed to fail since it was based on lies and a false persona. That they had all lied to him over and over. Wasn’t it time to find out the truth?

 

Clint could see Phil crumbling before his eyes. Raina attacked his doubts and his fears, knew his deepest secrets and manipulated him in ways that would break anyone into pieces. Then she mentioned Tahiti. That's when Clint knew she had him. Right when he started to parrot the line, "It’s a magical place," Coulson stopped himself and looked so very lost. Phil’s lip trembled and Clint’s eyes blurred with tears.

 

Raina had broken him with half truths, fake sympathy, and promises of discovery. Clint’s heart broke when Phil willingly walked back over to that device. The archer silently hoped Phil’s team found him before he agreed to subject himself willingly to their machine.

 

“Why, Nat?” Clint whispered.

 

Natasha gripped Clint’s hands tightly and quietly replied, “Once, I would have done anything to get back the memories that the Red Room took from me. I can understand why he needs to find out. We all want to know who we truly are.”

 

Clint watched as the machine hummed to life and Phil was encouraged to relax and remember. He mentioned darkness and then began to struggle. Coulson became more agitated as the procedure dragged on, then the begging started.

 

The words tumbled out of his mouth. Phil Coulson was begging, piteously and broken, to let him die.

 

Tears streamed down Clint’s face but he could not pull his eyes away from the video feed.

 

It took too long for Coulson's team to arrive. When they finally broke into the compound, Skye got to Phil first, after decking Raina. May entered the room next, bending over to pull the plug on the machine, and video feed stopped.

 

Finally, the screen went dark.

 

Clint scrubbed at his face with his hands as he pulled away from his partner. He stood, paced a few steps, then stopped, lost in thought. Finally, he said, “What did he see, Nat? What did they do to him?”

 

“There’s one more folder,” Natasha reminded her partner.

 

Clint took a deep shuddering breath and sat back down on the sofa. His spine ramrod straight and his jaw clenched.

 

“Open it.”

 

In the file was page after page of medical reports. Large sections heavily blacked out with only the occasional section readable.

 

“What the hell Jarvis? How come its mostly deleted?”

 

“I’m sorry Agent Barton but this is what Sir was able to retrieve. Most of the information you were seeking was erased or moved.”

 

The archer’s eyes were glued to the text.

 

‘subject Coulson Philip J put into stasis to halt tissue degeneration. Project Anastasis to commence.’

 

“Anastasis? What the fuck is that?” Clint wanted to know.

 

“Agent Barton if I may, Anastasis is archaic Greek for resurrection.” Jarvis informed them.

 

The next few pages were redacted to the point of being unintelligible. The bits that could be read were notations on failed procedures. The details of which were still a mystery.

 

‘Day 3 subject still clinically dead. No brain activity detected. Administering serum 12.’

 

Then a large deleted area.

 

‘Day 7 tissue regeneration complete. Heart and lungs functioning. Massive neurological trauma detected due to prolonged vegetative state. Initiating repairs.’

 

More frustratingly unreadable pages followed.

 

‘Day 8 memory alteration to commence. Subject is showing severe signs of distress due to previous procedures. Pain tolerance exceeded. Subject begging to die. Trauma to be replaced with implanted memories of recuperation in Tahiti.’

 

Clint stared in horror at the pages. Phil was dead for days? How was that even possible? What did those bastards at Shield do to him?

 

“Phil was dead. He was cold and dead. He was experimented on like some medical college cadaver. Then they got into his head Nat. They fucking messed with his head. Just like...like.” Clint couldn’t continue. He knew SHIELD was not always the good guys but this paled in comparison to anything they’d ever done before.

 

The Archer wanted to hit something. He wanted to find Fury and fucking strangle him with his bare hands. It was his signature that Clint could make out that authorized everything.

 

“Clint what’s important to remember is that Phil is alive. He’s alive and you love him. Come on lets get out of here for a while. You need to take a step back and think about everything.” Natasha placed her hand on Clint’s cheek and he pulled angrily away.

 

“Play the video.”

 

“This was all Sir was able to splice together from the wiped hard drives.” Jarvis apologised.

 

The images were dark, grainy and disjointed. They depicted a medical lab with Phil lying on a stainless steel table. His skin had a greyish tinge and it was obvious he wasn’t breathing. One scene after another of needles and foreign substances being pumped into the Agent’s still form. His body connected to numerous tubes and wires doing God only knew what. Medical staff wearing masks and scrubs crowded around shouting out scientific jargon Clint could not understand.

 

Then came the final bit of video. Clint’s eyes widened in complete shock. Natasha’s hand tightened painfully on his arm and her harsh indrawn breath lingered in his ears.

 

Phil lay strapped to an examination table. His skull peeled open like a ripe melon exposing his brain. At the head of the table a frighteningly insectoid machine extended its thin, needle like probes into his grey matter. Small shocks of energy crackled and sizzled in their wake.

 

Phil’s voice sounded hoarse and completely broken begging them to just let him die.

 

‘Please, please let me die,’ echoed over and over in Clint’s head.

 

Clint’s vision tunneled, he grew dizzy as a hot wash of saliva filled his mouth. He threw himself off the sofa and barely made it into the bathroom. Clint fell to his knees to wretch noisily into the toilet. His stomach heaving and cramping as it rid itself of even the memory of food.

 

The image of his lover experimented on and tortured would haunt his dreams for a very long time. Clint wanted to scream, beat his fists against the wall and sob. Crushing guilt overwhelmed the archer because despite what he’d seen Clint thanked God that it worked. He didn’t lose the one person that meant everything to him.

 

Clint gripped the bowl with white knuckles and was dimly aware of Natasha crouched near him rubbing his back.

 

“I can’t. How can I face Phil now that I know? What have I done? He’s going to hate me for seeing what they did to him.” Clint laid his head over his crossed arms as he willed his stomach to settle.

 

Natasha tugged on Clint until he was sitting upright and then she flushed away the mess. Clint was handed a wet washcloth.

 

The Archer wiped his face and shakily got to his feet. he briefly rinsed his mouth out and returned to the living room. He sank back onto the sofa with his head in his hands. Thankfully the big screen TV was dark.

 

Natasha settled next to her partner and turned him to face her. “You know there have only been two times I’ve truly panicked since I defected. Once was when Coulson told me you’d been compromised and the other was right after I found out Phil went to face Loki alone. Despite the distance I’ve tried to keep and the promise I made to myself not to care about anyone again you’ve both managed to make a liar out of me. You belong together. I don’t like seeing the two best things in my life miserable.”

 

“What if it’s too late?” Clint asked despondently.

 

“You didn’t see him Clint. After you were taken. He was like a man possessed. Phil barely ate. Didn’t sleep either. He lived on coffee while we searched for Loki. While he searched for you. I even caught him with a cigarette a few times even though we both know he quit years ago. Coulson was that shaken. You can’t give up on him when he didn’t give up on you. Not even afterward when you tried to push Phil away. When you were hurting so badly. He helped put you back together. Now do the same for him.” Natasha grabbed the Archer and shook him slightly as she talked.

 

“I don’t know if I can.” Clint whispered.

 

Natasha stifled the urge to punch her partner. “God Damn it Clint. If you don’t fight for him I swear I will kick your ass all the way to their Bus and drag you on board. I’ve seen you come back from much worse. Don’t make me hurt you. Now get some sleep tonight and tomorrow go see Phil and make this right.”

 

“Can I stay here?”

 

“Only if you take a shower. Come back after you’re done, the door will be open.” Natasha simply replied as she pulled her partner up and shoved him towards the door.

 

Much later in the quiet of Natasha’s bedroom Clint lay awake. His mind too unsettled to rest. Natasha curled up at his side was comforting. More than he could ever express to her. They were kindred spirits.

 

Despite Natasha’s threat a little over a week passed before Clint could find the courage to contact Phil. He’d heard nothing from his lover during that time. Only a few texts from Skye saying Coulson seemed all right.  The Archer held his breath as he hit Phil on his contact list. Clint wasn’t really expecting him to pick up and as Clint thought the cell went straight to voicemail.

 

This time Clint left a message.

 

“Look, uh, I know its been a week. You said you wanted some space and I tried. I said some things I shouldn’t have. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. You might hate me for what I’m about to say but I have to come clean. Phil, I went digging when you wouldn’t tell me what was going on.” Clint said in a rush. Then he cursed when the time ran out.

 

He promptly called back.

 

“I couldn’t leave it alone when I saw that you were hurting. You might be able to hide it from everyone else but I could see you were fucking scared. I asked Stark to see what he could get from Shield. He found quite a bit actually. A lot of the info was sketchy and only from what he could piece together. Shit Phil...I need to see you.” Clint hung up and flung himself down on the bed.

 

Clint had not been able to sleep much and only Natasha practically forcing food on him was he able to eat. Things were quiet on the Avengers end and Shield had no missions either. So the archer was going out of his mind waiting. he nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone chimed that he had a text.

 

The message simply contained an address. One that Clint recognized though he’d never been there. It was a small lake house in upstate New York. Phil inherited it from his family. They’d always intended to take some time off and go up there but real life intruded way too often to make that possible.

 

It would take him most of the night to get there if he left now. But Clint was too keyed up to sleep anyway. This way he’d at least have plenty of time to think of what to say.

 

The truth was though as the miles crept by Clint got more distraught. He had the thumb drive on the seat next to him in the car he’d borrowed from Stark. Some fancy ass black sedan that Clint really couldn’t appreciate because he was too nervous. The archer was thankful that the billionaire handed over the keys with a minimum of fuss after Clint told Tony where he was going. He left with Tony’s instructions to take care of the guy. Which shouldn’t surprise the archer at all. The billionaire had a soft spot for the senior Agent.

 

It was just after 4 am when Clint drove through Glens falls. According to his map the lake house was about a thirty five minute drive further north of the picturesque town.

 

Clint’s stomach clenched when he finally pulled up to the driveway leading to the home. He stopped the car and turned off the motor. Trying to find his courage Clint looked at the place.

 

The house was a two story cape cod painted white with blue shutters. Two dormers divided the roof and a covered porch ran the full length of the front. Clint could not see the lake so he assumed that it was somewhere at the back of the property.

 

The porch was lit by two sconces that flanked the front door. Lola was parked off to one side of the driveway and Clint could see a figure silhouetted in one of the front windows. Phil knew he was there. Of course he did.

 

Still not sure what he was going to say Clint got out of the car and walked onto the porch.

 

The door opened and there stood Phil. He was wearing faded jeans and a navy blue crew neck sweater. The dark color emphasized the shadows prevalent under the senior agent’s eyes. Clint imagined Phil looked like he felt.

 

“Hey.” Was all Clint could think to say. The memory stick was clenched tightly in his fist.

 

Phil simply moved to one side allowing Clint to enter. This did not bode well.

 

The archer was not prone to babbling but once he was inside it all came pouring out. He had to get everything out in the open and find out if he even still had a chance.

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I know you said you wanted some space and I was a total dick about it. Then I went snooping. I told you I had Stark look into your recovery. Here this is what he found. A lot of it is blocked out but I saw enough. God Phil...I had no idea.” Clint held out his slightly shaking hand.

 

Clint was known for his aim in the field and near unbreakable calm. But not around Phil. Right now Clint doubted he could have hit a bullseye even if his life depended on it.

 

Phil looked at what his lover held in his hand. He knew what it contained and was a loathe to take it as he would be to pick up a venomous serpent. He noted the tremor and looked up into Clint’s face. Guilt was evident there as was extreme distress.

 

“You had no right.” Phil could not help snapping as he took the memory stick.

 

Clint tried to breathe. This is exactly what he feared would happen. “I had to. I needed to know so I could help.”

 

“Help? How does this breach of trust help? Did you see any of what they did to me? Hear me begging to die? Did it make for good viewing?” Phil turned his back and walked to the large sliding glass doors. He looked out into the predawn darkness.

 

“I heard you Phil. A lot of the nights we were together. The nightmares almost tore my heart out. You begged Phil. Begged to die in them. Just like in that damned video I saw. You wouldn’t talk about the dreams. You told me you didn’t remember what they were about. But I saw the fear and pain in your eyes. It nearly killed me.” Clint carefully walked to his lover’s side but didn’t touch. He could see by the tense set of Phil’s shoulders that it would not be welcomed.

 

“I didn’t remember. I had no idea that I was saying that in my sleep. All I remembered was Tahiti, its a mag...fuck! Even now that phrase is stuck in my head. Right where they put it.” Phil scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands.

 

This time Clint placed his hands on Phil’s shoulders and turned his lover to face him. “It was horrible what they put you through Phil. But I can honestly say I’m grateful. You’re here. Alive, with me now.”

 

Clint slid his hand down over Phil’s heart and let it rest there. “What Fury did was wrong. To do so without your consent is even worse but it didn’t change who you are in here. You’re still the man I fell in love with. Scars and all no matter what.”

 

Phil’s hand covered Clint’s and held it there. “It did though. Change me. I have no clue what all occurred when I was dead. What was used on me and pumped through my body. I have to know and I don’t want to drag you along with me. I can’t put you through that.”

 

“Natasha told me you know. She said how you watched the footage of Loki taking me over and over. Every second I was caught on camera. How you didn’t eat or sleep. Obsessed with finding and freeing me. So do you blame me for acting the same way? Yes Phil, you were right here in front of me but I was losing you all the same.” Clint took a chance and stepped closer. Closing the distance between them.

 

“I didn’t know how to handle what happened. I still need to know. I’m not going to stop until I find out everything.” Phil clasped Clint’s fingers tighter. Using them as an anchor to calm his fleeting panic.

 

“Let me help you then. Don’t push me aside please. I can be there for you like you were there for me after Loki. I tried to push you away too. When everything became too much to bear. You didn’t give up on me then and I won’t give up on you now.” Clint said with such quiet heartfelt conviction that Phil could not help looking into Clint’s eyes.

 

“Thank you. For coming back. For not giving up.” As if a terrible burden had been lifted from his shoulders Phil sagged against his lover. He wrapped his arms around Clint’s waist and just let himself be held.

 

“Never. I’ll never give up on you. We’ll face everything together ok? Besides I’m looking forward to watching you kick Fury’s ass.” Clint willingly took Phil’s weight and returned his embrace.

 

Phil could not help himself. He snorted in amusement against Clint’s warm neck. Then he yawned widely.

 

“Hey I bet this place has an awesome bed. Why don’t we find it and get some sleep? I’m exhausted and you don’t look any better. Then after we wake up you can make me breakfast. We’ll worry about all that other shit later.” Clint turned his head and kissed Phil lightly on the lips.

 

“Yeah its upstairs. I am glad that you’re here. I’m still mad at you for being as you called it ‘a dick’ but I think I can get over it.” Phil didn’t want to move though for a moment. He just stood in Clint’s arms as they faced the large glass doors. They watched as the sunrise turned the horizon a dusky orange.

 

Phil was truly thankful that Clint was with him here now. That despite the uncertainty of the last few weeks that they would face whatever came next together.

 

After all, they’d gone through hell and back to get to this point and there was no way Phil was going to give that up now.


End file.
